The Sorcerer's Oath - Books 3-4

Chapter 6-2

Impulsively, Rainstorm put an arm around Danton’s shoulder as they stood looking at the whipped man. “Well, let’s get this poor bugger down, shall we?” He gave Danton a pat and withdrew his arm, “So, what do you want me to do?”

“Your suggestion about using my magic was a good one. I’ll levitate him while you cut him down. Ready?”

Suddenly a crow cawed overhead as it flew in to perch in the branches of the tree. Danton found himself talking to empty space. He rolled his eyes, “Rainstorm, it’s just a crow.”

A voice somewhere above him gave an embarrassed chuckle, “Whoops. It’s a bit scary out in all this space.” Rainstorm reappeared at his side, grinning sheepishly.

Danton gave his head a little shake and continued where he’d left off, “So will you cut him down while I hold him up?”

Rainstorm nodded and sidled around the man, eyeing the wounds on his back as he came closer. He took a deep breath, “Right. Are you ready?” The woodman reached up and cut through the large rope that held the man aloft. Danton’s magic held and although the man’s arms dropped, the rest of him stayed where he was. Rainstorm swiftly cut through his bonds and stepped back. Danton turned the man into a horizontal position in the air, face up.

“Rainstorm, can you just loop a bit of rope around his arms to hold them together on his stomach while we’re moving?”

“I shouldn’t have cut his bonds.”

“Oh, I think you should have. They were shockingly tight. The circulation was cut off from his hands. Look. They’re all blue. Either those bastards tied them too tightly in the first place or his weight dragged them tighter.”

Rainstorm did as he was asked and stood back quickly. “Right. Are we off?”

Danton could hear the tension in the young woodman’s voice. “Thanks, Rainstorm, for coming.”

Rainstorm nodded briefly, his eyes never leaving the injured man so that he didn’t have to see the wide space he was walking through. “Will he survive, do you think?”

Danton shook his head, “If we can get him back to Tarkyn in time, he might stand a chance. He’s pretty far gone, though.”

Woodman and sorcerer walked together through the orange rays of the setting sun, the injured man floating beside them. Around them, yellow grasses around the fields’ borders glowed deep gold but the young woodman only had eyes for the forest ahead.

By the time they reached the forest’s edge, Rainstorm’s message had been relayed and Tarkyn was waiting for them. A flat grassy space had been cleared far enough inside the forest for safety and laid with furs and cloth. Rainstorm undid the ropes holding the man’s arms and manoeuvred them out of the way as Danton turned the man over to lay him face down on the ground. Gasps and exclamations of horror erupted around him. A few furtive, speculative glances were directed at Danton but he decided he would deal with them later. A slight release in tension around him made him realise that Rainstorm had dealt with it now.

As soon as the man was settled, Tarkyn sat beside him, placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and sent his life force into him. After a few minutes, nothing had changed. Tarkyn let himself flow down his arm into the man beside him. He found himself surrounded by abject misery, not of flesh but of spirit. The power he brought with him flowed passively through, but little was absorbed by the man’s body. Tarkyn opened his eyes and frowned. “There seems to be some sort of resistance. My power isn’t working on him.” He looked around for the woodfolk healer, “Summer Rain, could you do what you can for him, while we try to work out what is going on?”

“Maybe you can only give this life force of yours to woodfolk?” suggested Falling Rain.

“No. It’s not that,” replied Autumn Leaves, “Tarkyn has healed Danton a couple of times.”

“Well, maybe he has nothing left to live for, no life to go back to, if his prince has rejected him,” said Lapping Water slowly. “He’s probably as good as dead in your sorcerer society, anyway. He won’t a have a position to go back to. Will he?”

“Not as captain of the guard, he won’t,” agreed Tarkyn.

“Oh. Is that who he is? That makes sense.” Danton shrugged, “He may well feel that he has lost his honour by failing Prince Jarand as he did.”

Waterstone rolled his eyes, “Only you could think like that, Danton.”

Danton gave a slight smile, “In fact, he may well believe that he deserves to be punished.”

“But not like this!” exclaimed Autumn Leaves hotly. “This is barbaric.”

“No,” said Tarkyn softly, “Not like this.” The prince looked at Summer Rain who was gently wiping away the worst of the blood with a soft, damp cloth. “Is there any chance that he may regain consciousness without my intervention?”

Summer Rain felt his pulse and lifted an eyelid to peer closely into his eye. She straightened up and said, “He is in shock but he is strong and fit. In themselves, his injuries are not life threatening. It is the shock or infection that could kill him. If we take care of him, keep him warm and make sure he takes in fluids, I think he will recover over time. We will have to guard against infection, though. If his wounds fester, without his resistance he might succumb. But on the short run, once the worst of the shock has passed, he should regain consciousness.”

Even as she spoke, the man groaned and grimaced with pain as he moved.

“If he’s about to open his eyes, we’d better think about whom we want him to see,” said Tarkyn.

There was a short mind conference. “Whatever happens, he’s going to have stay with us until he recovers unless we just decide to abandon him,” reported Waterstone. A glance around indicated that no one was thinking of this option. “So, from our point of view, we will allow him to see us. From his point of view, he may find a group of new people a bit threatening in his present condition.”

After a minute’s thought, Danton said, “Let me deal with this. At least, let me try. Your Highness, if you could sit out of his vision but be ready with your hand on his shoulder, I will speak to him when he comes around. I think you’re right, Waterstone, that the rest of you are probably a surprise he may not yet be ready for.”

Tarkyn nodded, smiling to himself that Danton had used his title to offset the fact that he giving him instructions.

“Tarkyn, do you know his name?” asked Danton.

“Captain Harkell.”

“Thanks.”

For a while nothing happened. Everyone sat out of the captain’s line of vision and waited. Eventually, the captain stirred again and groaned. Danton leaned over him and lifted him a little to give him a drink. The captain let out a gasp of pain. Most of the water dribbled onto the ground but a little found its way between his lips. Danton let him gently down again.

“Captain Harkell. Captain, can you hear me?”

There was an almost imperceptible nod.

“Captain, your punishment is now complete. His Royal Highness would like you to recover so that you may serve him in the future. Do you understand?” All around him, eyes widened. Tarkyn frowned.

The captain nodded again.

“Are you willing to do your best to recover to serve the royal family of Tamadil?”

A whisper issued from the injured man’s throat. Danton bent closer so that he could hear. When he straightened, he gave a slight smile, knowing how the woodfolk would react, “Your Highness, the captain said, ‘I live to serve’.”

Looks of disbelief passed among the assembled woodfolk.

“The man’s mad,” mouthed Rainstorm.

Danton returned his attention to his task. “Captain, in a moment, you will feel a warm wave of strength entering your body through your right shoulder. I want you to take that strength and send it into the damage on your back.” When Danton looked up to nod at Tarkyn, he found a pair of very angry amber eyes trained on him. Danton held their gaze steadily and added mischievously, knowing he would pay for it later “When you are recovered, the prince will wish to speak with you.”

Tarkyn’s eyes narrowed but, as the suffering captain nodded and gave another slight groan at the pain the movement cost him, the prince resolutely turned his attention to the healing and, taking a deep breath, channelled his life force through his hand into the man’s shoulder. Tarkyn flowed his consciousness down into the injured man and directed his power to repair the gouged, stressed flesh. The damage to the man’s back was extensive and it took close to an hour for the last and deepest of the weals gradually to close over and fade. When Tarkyn took his hand away, Captain Harkell’s back was criss-crossed with pink scars and there was some residual bruising but he was healed.

“That was the easy part,” mouthed Tarkyn. “This man is going to want to kill us all when he finds out what stunt you’ve pulled.”

Danton gave a slight shrug and tore his eyes away from Tarkyn to lean close to the captain, “Captain Harkell, your back is looking a lot better now. Unfortunately, you will carry the scarring for the rest of your life but other than that, it is repaired. You may find it a little stiff to begin with. When you are ready, you can sit up and I will give you some water and then some tea to revive you.”

As the man began to move, Danton waved frantically at everyone. The woodfolk grinned at him and disappeared in one easy flick. Tarkyn rose to his feet and stood uncertainly, wondering whether or not to stay. Before he could decide, a strong arm grabbed him and pulled him behind the bushes at the edge of the clearing. He frowned and looked around to find Autumn Leaves next to him, with Tarkyn’s sleeve gripped firmly in his hand.

“I might have known it was you. You always seem to be the one manhandling me in these situations,” whispered Tarkyn. “I could kill Danton. That man is going to hate me.”

“And who knows what manner of man he is. He could be an out and out thug, for all we know.”

Back inside the clearing, Captain Harkell was looking around himself with dawning suspicion, “Why are we back within the forest? I had thought His Highness intended to return to Montraya.”

Danton handed him a cup of tea before sitting down beside him. “Prince Jarand has indeed returned to Montraya, as far as I know.” Danton gave the captain a little while to digest this information before saying, “I was impressed by your devotion to the royal family, even while you lay there suffering.”

Harkell sipped his tea, “I am lucky to be alive after giving such poor service.”

After a pause, Danton said slowly, “I’m afraid to say that I don’t think Prince Jarand cares one way or the other whether you survive.”